


Weather or Not (You'll Be There)

by radioactive_storm (storm_aurora)



Series: Today's Forecast [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Hot Chocolate, New York is cold my dudes, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Precious Peter Parker, Realistic depictions of snow in the city, Tony Stark Has A Heart, even if he doesn't like to show it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:13:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21905017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storm_aurora/pseuds/radioactive_storm
Summary: It hasn't been long since Tony offered to start being a proper mentor to Peter, and Peter's still not entirely sure what that entails. But to be fair, neither is Tony. When the man shows up to help him take down a group of criminals with alien weapons, Peter expects he's in for a lecture. Instead, he gets a fistful of snow, a cup of hot chocolate, and a lesson about a part of being a superhero that he had never considered.
Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Today's Forecast [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1765276
Comments: 19
Kudos: 97
Collections: Iron Dad Secret Santa 2019





	Weather or Not (You'll Be There)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheQueenOfWhump](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheQueenOfWhump/gifts).



> My Irondad Secret Santa fic for @spideys-sad-and-so-am-i on Tumblr! Inspired by her prompt "Post-Battle" and the prompt “YOU DON’T LIKE MARSHMALLOWS IN YOUR HOT CHOCOLATE? WHY DO YOU HATE LOVE” from [this post](https://frostysunflowers.tumblr.com/post/188518822774/angeliiiic-im-always-a-slut-for-a-christmas-au). Creative liberties were taken with both prompts.
> 
> I hope you like it!

“Dude, watch where you’re pointing that thing!” Peter chirps, shooting a web at the end of the guy’s weapon. He yanks it out of the guy’s hands just before it fires. The shot instantly dissolves Peter’s webbing and hits a shipping container instead of Mr. Stark, quickly burning a hole in the side of it like an incredibly corrosive acid.

Mr. Stark blasts the guy with a sonic pulse to knock him out while Peter flips down onto the floor and webs the acid gun to the ground. He adds a web net to the guy for good measure.

“That’s the last of ‘em,” Mr. Stark says as he walks over to Peter. “FRIDAY, let the cops know where to pick up these goons and their tech.”

“The appropriate authorities have already been notified, boss,” FRIDAY reports. The AI’s tinny voice is muffled by Mr. Stark’s helmet.

“You’re a doll,” he says. Then his helmet retracts, and he turns his attention to Peter.

Now that the excitement of getting to team up with Mr. Stark has faded, Peter sighs and lets his shoulders slump. He doesn’t know why Mr. Stark decided to show up to this fight, but he does know that it can’t be good. The first time Mr. Stark had shown up in person, it had been to bail him out of the situation on the ferry. The next time, it had been when Peter had gone out on patrol after too many late nights spent playing video games and doing homework, and his sluggish reflexes allowed a mugger to get some good hits on him. Both of these incidents had been followed by a stern lecture from Mr. Stark. Peter doesn’t know what rule he’s broken this time, but he still braces himself for the lecture that’s sure to come.

“What’re you so bummed about, kid?” Mr. Stark asks. “You did good. Well, except for the part where you got hit with a stun gun. But I was there to save your butt by that point, so…you’re welcome.”

“I’m just not in the mood for a lecture right now, Mr. Stark,” Peter grumbles. Now that he’s standing still instead of jumping around dodging enemy fire, the mid-November chill – multiplied by the darkness of the warehouse – is starting to seep into Peter’s bones. “Karen, turn on the heater, please.”

Mr. Stark tilts his head and stares at Peter as if assessing him. After a few moments, he claps his iron gauntlets together and announces, “Okay. I won’t give you a lecture right now.”

Peter instantly perks up. “Really?”

“Yeah, sure.” Mr. Stark waves a hand in a vague gesture. “Y’know, spirit of Christmas and all that.”

Peter snorts. “It’s not even Thanksgiving yet, Mr. Stark.” He can’t help the grin that spreads across his face and the little bounce he does on the balls of his feet. Who knew getting out of a lecture was that easy? Never mind that Peter doesn’t know what the lecture would have been about. He’ll gladly take any chance he can get to spend time with his mentor that’s not weighed down by all the negative stuff.

He bounces over to the front door of the warehouse and opens it. A cold gust of wind blows in, making Peter shiver despite his suit’s heater. It’s only been fifteen or twenty minutes since he entered the warehouse, but it feels like the temperature has dropped fifteen or twenty degrees in that time. When he steps out of the warehouse, he guesses that it might have to do with the fact that the sun has already begun to set – stupid New York autumns with their stupidly short days.

“Good lord, it’s freezing out here!” Mr. Stark complains as soon as he follows Peter out of the warehouse. A few clicks signal to Peter that his helmet has slid back out to cover his face. “Are you planning on swinging home in this, kid?”

“Yeah,” Peter shrugs. “It’s only…Karen, how long will it take me to swing home from here?”

“It should take about twenty-two minutes to reach the backpack where you’ve stored your clothes, Peter,” Karen reports. “From there you could make it home in as fast as seven minutes. However, I advise taking it slow to avoid slipping on the ice and snow, which would increase the time to twenty-nine minutes.”

“Yeah, no, that’s not happening,” Mr. Stark declares. “I’m texting Happy to come pick us up and drive you home.”

“But I’ve got the heater in my suit–”

“Which’ll do you jack shit on the walk home, once you’ve changed out of it. Jesus, kid, do you always change into your suit outside in this weather?”

Peter shrugs and folds his arms defensively. “I don’t exactly have anywhere else to do it. It’d look a bit suspicious if people saw Spider-Man crawling in and out of my bedroom window every day and night.”

Mr. Stark crosses his arms. “I’ll work on it,” he says. Then he turns his face away from Peter. “FRIDAY, text Happy. ‘The kid and I need a ride.’ Then our location.” A pause. “Looks good. Send.”

Peter bounces from foot to foot, glancing up at the buildings around them. Yeah, Mr. Stark had just asked Happy to come get them, but he’ll undoubtedly complain about it. Peter doesn’t want to inconvenience the man. And who knows how long it’ll take Happy to arrive? Peter might be able to make it home before the man has even shown up here…

As if reading his thoughts, Mr. Stark suddenly announces, “Happy will be here in fifteen minutes. If you even think about trying to swing home on your own before then, I’ll drag you back into this warehouse and string you up with your own webs.”

“Yes, sir,” Peter says immediately, instinctively shrinking back a little. He’s come to know Mr. Stark a bit better in the past month, but he still finds it hard to distinguish between the man’s real threats and his joking ones.

A big gust of wind suddenly blows through, making Peter shiver.

“Cold already, kid?” Mr. Stark comments. “What happened to that heater?”

“I’m fine,” Peter says, subtly rubbing his hands over his arms. “It’s just…the wind, y’know? Makes the cold even colder.”

“Yeah. And you thought you’d be fine swinging home in this weather?” Mr. Stark scoffs.

“It doesn’t bother me as long as I’m not standing still,” Peter retorts. He hops from one foot to the other, then starts jogging across the snow. He bends over to do a cartwheel.

“FRIDAY,” Mr. Stark says, “send another message to Happy. Tell him–”

Whatever message Mr. Stark wants to tell Happy, Peter never finds out what it is. One of his hands slides on a patch of ice beneath the snow, causing his cartwheel to become unbalanced. Letting out a loud yelp, Peter falls into a snowdrift.

“Snowdrift” may be a little generous of a way to describe the pile of slushy gray stuff that Peter is now lying in. It doesn’t surprise him, really. Snow in New York is never pure white, unless it’s freshly fallen or in Central Park. This snow, trampled by criminals stomping in and out of the warehouse and churned by cars and trucks driving up to it, is no exception. It’s nothing like the blankets of pure white that TV shows and movies always show.

But even when it’s cold and dirty and slushy, Peter still likes the snow. There’s just something about the softness of it and the way it muffles all the sounds of the city that Peter has always loved. He scoops up a handful of the slush in a glove and balls his hand into a fist, hearing the satisfying crunch of the compacting flakes and feeling the cold water seep through.

“The amazing Spider-Man, defender of Queens, is finally taken down by a patch of ice. Take notes, criminals.”

Peter opens his eyes and sees Mr. Stark standing over him, arms spread wide. He huffs out a breath and gets to his feet. “I meant to do that,” he says, brushing a few stray snowflakes off the shoulders of his suit.

Mr. Stark doesn’t say anything, but Peter’s pretty sure that he’s rolling his eyes underneath the helmet.

The melted slush that has soaked the back of Peter’s suit does nothing to help his temperature problem, and Peter fights the urge to start shivering again. He starts hopping through the snow, alternating between jumping on one foot and two. As long as he keeps himself moving, he doesn’t feel the need to shiver.

He makes it all the way to the edge of the warehouse and back before Mr. Stark calls out, “What are you doing, kid?”

Peter makes a 180-degree turn mid-hop so he can stop and face Mr. Stark again. “It’s like hopscotch, Mr. Stark. Just, without a rock…or a board…or other people.” He shrugs. “Okay, I guess it’s not really anything like hopscotch.”

Mr. Stark says nothing, just tilts his head quizzically as he stares at Peter. It’s times like these that Peter desperately wishes the Iron Man mask had some transparency to it, instead of it being just having the cold, emotionless white eyes and unmoving gold mouth. It makes Mr. Stark always look displeased while he’s wearing the helmet. Peter also isn’t used to this much silence from Mr. Stark, and he doesn’t know if it indicates a good mood or a bad one.

“You’re shivering again,” Mr. Stark finally says.

Suddenly realizing that he is, in fact, shivering again, Peter immediately spins in a circle to help get his blood pumping and warm him up. “No, I’m not,” he says petulantly.

“Yes, you were,” Mr. Stark says. “C'mon. Let’s go inside 'til Happy gets here.”

“I’m _fine_ , Mr. Stark,” Peter insists. “Perfectly fine! See?”

Peter sprints across the snow to the opposite corner of the warehouse, then sprints back to the door. He darts over to the wall and climbs to the top as fast as he can. He climbs back down until he’s about ten feet above the ground, then does a backflip off the wall. He wobbles a bit on the landing but doesn’t fall down. Finally, he turns back to Mr. Stark, barely even winded.

“Okay, okay, you’ve made your point,” Mr. Stark says exasperatedly. “God, I think I’m out of breath just by watching you. How the hell do you have so much energy?”

“I dunno,” Peter replies, bouncing up and down on his feet again. “The spider bite improved my stamina, I think. But I’ve always had a lot of energy, ever since I was a kid.”

“Still are a kid.”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

Peter tries to stick his tongue out at Mr. Stark and just licks the inside of his mask instead. He decides to let that argument go before he makes his case any worse. Fortunately, a sleek silver Audi pulls up to the curb in front of the warehouse before Mr. Stark can say anything else.

“That’s our ride, kid. Let’s get outta here,” Mr. Stark says, patting Peter on the shoulder as he walks past him. He stops outside the car to step out of his suit, which – after he presses a couple of buttons inside – closes by itself and flies away. Then, he opens the car door and slides in behind the driver’s seat, leaving Peter to sit on the passenger’s side.

Peter climbs in after Mr. Stark and lets out a sigh of contentment. The inside of the car feels like a blissful sauna after the frigid temperatures outside. He closes the door as quickly as possible, content to just close his eyes and bask in the warmth of the car's heater. A moment later, he opens them, remembering that he needs to put on his seatbelt first.

“I hope you know that I’m giving up an evening relaxing in the warmth of the fire in my apartment for this,” Happy grumbles as Peter buckles in.

“Your sappy Hallmark movies can wait a couple hours, Hap,” Mr. Stark says, leaning forward to rest his chin on the side of Happy’s seat. "Did you bring… _the goods_?”

Happy grunts. “They’re right there.” He jerks a thumb in the direction of the front passenger seat.

Mr. Stark leans back and blows a kiss in the direction of Happy’s seat. “You’re an angel, Hap. A true godsend. A real Christmas miracle.”

“It’s not even Thanksgiving yet.”

“That’s exactly what I said!”

“Lordy, why’s everyone so concerned with semantics today? Happy, drive.”

Happy sighs. “Where to, boss?”

“Wherever the kid stashed his clothes.”

* * *

It’s already dark by the time they pick up Peter’s backpack. Mr. Stark and Happy give Peter privacy to change into his clothes in the warmth of the backseat, and from there it’s a short trip to Peter’s apartment.

Once the car rolls to a stop, Peter unbuckles his seatbelt and pulls his backpack onto the seat next to him. However, before opening the door, he glances up front to the driver’s seat.

“Thanks for driving me home, Happy,” Peter says. Happy grunts in acknowledgement.

Peter turns to Mr. Stark then, another thanks on the tip of his tongue. It never makes it off, though, because Mr. Stark has also unbuckled his seatbelt and is leaning over the center console to grab a couple of Target bags out of the passenger seat. Peter can see a thin milk jug sticking out of one of them. His brow furrows as Mr. Stark sits back and opens his door. He’s halfway out of the car when he glances over his shoulder and notices Peter still seated, staring puzzledly at him.

“Chop, chop, kid, we’re here,” Mr. Stark says impatiently. “What, did you think I was gonna open the door for you every time we ride together?”

Peter fumbles for his door handle and scrambles out of the car, only remembering at the last moment to grab his backpack before he closes the door. He slings one strap of the backpack over his shoulder, watching as Mr. Stark has a murmured conversation with Happy by the man’s window.

“How long do I have to wait out here?”

“You don’t have to wait, but stay close. I’ll only be an hour at most.”

Mr. Stark comes around to Peter’s side of the car. “After you, kid,” he says, gesturing towards the apartment complex.

“Um, um, uh – wh…what are you doing?” Peter stutters.

Mr. Stark narrows his eyes at him. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Um, I mean…uh… _why_ are you…”

“C’mon, kid, walk and talk,” Mr. Stark says, putting an arm around Peter’s shoulders and tugging him forward. “It’s cold out here.”

“Why’re you…why do you want to come back to my apartment?” Peter asks. A sudden flash of fear jolts through him. “Y-you’re not…planning on ratting me out to May, are you?”

“Now, why on Earth would I have reason to do that?” Mr. Stark asks.

Peter _thinks_ he’s being sarcastic, which means Mr. Stark _does_ have something to tattle to May about. But Peter still isn’t really sure what he’s done wrong. In fact, he’s starting to have doubts that he even did anything wrong at all. Karen is supposed to remind him if he’s trying to do something that breaks any of May’s or Mr. Stark’s rules, and all she’d said today was that she advised waiting for backup. Maybe that was her way of telling him to wait for Mr. Stark to arrive? How was Peter supposed to know that Mr. Stark was on his way? How did Mr. Stark even know to come help Peter? Not that he really _needed_ Mr. Stark’s help, he could’ve taken down those guys on his own, but–

“Hello-o? Underoos? You still in there?” Mr. Stark knocks his knuckles on Peter's head, jolting him out of his thoughts.

“Huh? Sorry,” Peter says automatically as he reorients himself in reality. They’ve already made it inside and are climbing the stairs, though Peter’s not sure which flight they’re on. “I, um…what was the question again?”

Mr. Stark folds his arms. “Is there something you're worried about me telling your aunt?”

“Um, well, no – it’s just…tonight,” Peter explains. “I don’t…I don’t know what I did wrong.”

Mr. Stark raises an eyebrow at him. “What makes you think you did something wrong?”

“Well…because you showed up.”

Mr. Stark’s other eyebrow raises, too. Then he narrows his eyes and shakes his head. “It’s too cold for this kind of talk,” he declares, despite the fact that it’s actually fairly warm in the stairwell.

Having reached the landing to Peter’s floor, Mr. Stark pushes open the door and heads into the considerably cooler fourth-floor hallway. Peter trails a few feet behind. Mr. Stark reaches the door to the apartment first and waits for Peter to catch up, tapping his foot on the carpet. Peter’s a little surprised that Mr. Stark remembers where his apartment is – he’s only been there once before. Peter pulls his key out of his backpack and unlocks the door.

“May?” he calls as he steps inside. “I’m home!”

May’s head pops out of her bedroom. “Hey, sweetie, how was–” She cuts herself off, and Peter guesses she just registered Mr. Stark’s presence in the doorway behind him.

“I, uh…I brought a guest,” Peter says sheepishly.

“Mrs. Parker! Good to see you again,” Mr. Stark says jovially, stepping past Peter into the apartment. “You’re not using your kitchen, are you?”

“Not…at the moment, but–”

“Perfect! I’ll just be borrowing it for a bit,” Mr. Stark says. He disappears into the kitchen with his Target bags, and Peter and May exchange bewildered glances.

May gestures for him to come into her room and shuts the door behind him. “What is Tony Stark doing in our kitchen?” she hisses.

Peter focuses his hearing on the noises in the kitchen. He hears the creak of cabinets opening and closing and the clanging of pots. “I think he’s cooking,” Peter says.

“Yeah, he better be cooking, and not conducting some science experiment,” May grumbles under her breath. To Peter she asks, “ _Why_ is Tony Stark cooking in our kitchen?”

“I have no idea,” Peter says earnestly. “He helped me out on patrol and then just kinda…invited himself over.”

May rolls her eyes. “Does he think he can just waltz into our apartment and use our kitchen just because he’s rich and famous?” Peter shrugs helplessly. “Well, maybe I should _politely_ remind him that it’s _impolite_ to show up to someone’s house unannounced and invite yourself in.”

“I mean, technically, I did let him in,” Peter says, feeling the urge to defend his mentor.

“You just said he invited himself,” May points out.

“He didn’t exactly _ask_ if he could come over,” Peter admits.

May sighs and shakes her head. “Okay, start from the beginning. What _did_ happen tonight?”

Peter recounts the events of the evening’s patrol, glossing over the danger presented by the guys with the alien weapons. He’s at the part where Happy arrived to pick them up when there’s a knock on the door. May opens it.

Mr. Stark is standing on the other side, sipping something out of a red coffee mug with the words “New York” printed on the side – a gift that May got at a white elephant gift exchange years ago. “Sorry to interrupt your little Parker powwow,” Mr. Stark says, not sounding sorry at all. “Just thought I’d let you know that I’m done with the kitchen.”

“Is that…coffee?” May asks.

“Hot chocolate, actually,” Mr. Stark says. He turns around and shrugs. “I was cold, and I prefer it homemade. Happy brought the ingredients.” He makes his way back to the living room and settles down on the couch. After a moment, he adds, “Oh, by the way, there was extra, so I poured mugs for the two of you. Drink ‘em before they get cold.”

Peter eagerly darts into the living room and steps next to the coffee table, where two mugs of hot chocolate sit. Peter takes the mug closest to him and starts heading towards the kitchen.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, buckaroo,” Mr. Stark says. He grabs hold of Peter’s sleeve as he passes the couch, forcing Peter to stop so he doesn’t spill his hot chocolate. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To get the mini marshmallows,” Peter answers.

“No, I don’t think so,” Mr. Stark says, tugging on Peter’s sleeve with more force. Peter moves his mug to his other hand so it doesn’t spill.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter says with a nervous chuckle, “you can’t have hot chocolate without marshmallows. That’s, like…a crime against happiness.”

Mr. Stark takes a long, drawn-out sip of his own hot chocolate. “Clearly, you’ve never had my hot chocolate.”

“Oh, wow,” May says. Peter glances in her direction and his eyes widen in surprise. His aunt is standing next to the coffee table, sipping from the other mug. “Oh, Peter, you _have_ to try this. It’s so good.”

So much for that lecture on guest etiquette.

Reluctantly, Peter takes a sip of the marshmallow-less hot chocolate. His eyes widen. This hot chocolate is unlike any he’s ever tasted before – a creamy, chocolatey flavor that fills his mouth and throat with a pleasant warmth that spreads throughout his whole body. It has just the perfect amount of sweetness that doesn’t overwhelm the flavor of the chocolate, but doesn’t leave a dark aftertaste, either. Peter understands now why Mr. Stark didn’t want him adding marshmallows to his hot chocolate.

“Mm? Spidey likey?” Mr. Stark asks. Peter nods vigorously. “Thought so,” he smirks. “Now,” he gestures towards the armchair. “Have a seat. Let’s chat.”

Peter obediently sits down in the armchair, kicks his sneakers off, and crosses his legs on the seat. May shoots him a look, and Peter takes his feet off the seat.

Mr. Stark puts his now-empty mug down on the coffee table and makes eye contact with Peter. “So, I said before that I wouldn’t give you a lecture right then,” his expression morphs into a devious smirk, “but I never said anything about not giving you a lecture later.”

Peter chokes on his hot chocolate.

“So, where to start.” Mr. Stark hums. “Let’s see. Well, I was sitting in my Manhattan penthouse, minding my own business, when I got an alert from your suit that you’d spotted some alien tech. Added that one after the whole Toomes incident,” he adds at Peter’s questioning look. “Since I didn’t have anything urgent to be doing, I figured I’d pull up the ol’ Baby Monitor, see what’s going on, make sure there aren’t any ferries in danger of being halved, you know.” Peter’s face gets redder and redder over the course of Mr. Stark’s sentence. “And you wanna guess what the first thing I heard when I pulled up that feed was?”

“Um…a funny one-liner that demonstrates my quick wit and unflappable courage in the face of danger?”

“Nice try, but no. That was the second thing,” Mr. Stark deadpans. “The first thing was ‘I don’t have any back-up, Karen.’”

He pauses, letting the words hang in the air. He’s staring directly at Peter now – not quite a glare, but an expression that bears an infinitely heavier burden: disappointment. Peter shifts uncomfortably in his seat. That’s what he’d told Karen after she said she thought he should wait for back-up. “Um…well, it’s true, isn’t it?”

Mr. Stark pulls his head back a bit as though offended by the very idea. At the same time, May exclaims, “Peter! What on Earth gave you _that_ idea?”

Peter jerks his head to look at his aunt; he’d almost forgotten that she’d been present for this whole conversation. She, too, looks appalled by Peter’s words. He looks between the two of them for a moment before saying, “I-I mean…bad guys with alien weapons are a little small-scale for you to be getting involved, Mr. Stark–”

“Peter,” Mr. Stark interrupts. Peter turns his full attention to Mr. Stark. His mentor _never_ uses his first name unless it’s something serious. “Why do you think I put that alert in your suit in the first place? Two reasons. One, so I can make sure Damage Control picks up the tech. Two, so I can make sure I’m able to give _you_ back-up if you need it. Same goes for all the alert systems I’ve got set up in your suit. They let me know when you’re in a situation where you might need back-up, so you don’t even have to ask for it.”

“But I didn’t need back-up!” Peter protests. “I had that totally under control!”

“Yeah, except for the part where you got hit by a stun gun–”

“Only because I was distracted by you showing up!”

“I don’t want to hear your excuses–”

“It’s not an excuse–”

“Boys!” May shouts, shutting up both Peter and Mr. Stark. “There’s no point in fighting about this. Mistakes were made on both sides, but no one got hurt, and that’s the important part,” she says matter-of-factly. “But Peter, baby, you don’t have to do this all on your own. I may not be a superhero, but I’ve always got your back for everything. Superhero-related or not. And…" May and Mr. Stark make eye contact for a moment before she looks back at Peter. "Mr. Stark is there to back you up, too, even if you don’t strictly need it.”

Mr. Stark nods. “You’ve got Happy, too,” he adds. “He may grouch about it, but if you ever need a ride for any reason, Hap’s your guy. No questions asked.”

Peter casts his gaze to the ground. But I’m a superhero, he wants to say. I’m not just an ordinary kid. I shouldn’t need help from all those people. But Peter doesn’t say any of that. Instead, he just glances up at Mr. Stark and says, “But you don’t use any back-up.”

“A case can be made that I should utilize my back-up more often,” Mr. Stark says with a shrug. “But that doesn’t mean I never do. And it certainly doesn’t mean I don’t have any. Happy, Pepper, Rhodey – God, I’d probably be dead or in prison without Rhodey,” he chuckles. “If I ask for their help, they’ll give it in a heartbeat. And, Pete, if there’s one thing you’re going to remember from this conversation, it’s that you can always ask for help from me. And when I show up, it’s not because you did something wrong. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Peter says, offering Mr. Stark a hesitant smile.

“Good!” Mr. Stark declares, standing up and clapping twice. “Speaking of Happy, I’m sure he’s getting impatient by now. I’ll be on my way. See you around, kid. Mrs. Parker.” He gives each of them a little nod as he says their name. Then he takes a few quick strides to reach the door.

“Mr. Stark, wait!” Peter calls, standing up. Mr. Stark pauses at the door and glances back over his shoulder at Peter. “Thank you…for the hot chocolate. And…for being my back-up.”

Mr. Stark smiles. “Anytime, kid.”

Then, with a flourish, he opens the door and slips out.

Peter turns away from the door. May gulps down the last of her hot chocolate, puts the cup down on the table, and smiles. “You know,” she says, “I’m starting to think that Tony Stark might not be so bad after all.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos, comments, and constructive criticism are appreciated! Or, come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://mala-sadas.tumblr.com).


End file.
